Did You Miss Me?
by Oldmoviebuff
Summary: Sherlock needs to go to his mind palace for answers. -Only a spoiler for the cliffhanger to 3x03, nothing else I swear!-


A.N.- Spoilers (kinda) to Sherlock 3x03. I promise nothing big is revealed, honestly it is based almost entirely off of the last 30 seconds of the episode. I watched it during my office shift and I swear to God Gatiss jumped out of my computer and hit me in the head with the muse bat. I punched this out in an hour at 5am and edited it later in the day. I think I caught everything mistake-wise, but forgive me if I didn't. Also, please let me know what you think. If you have read my profile, you know that I really don't like to write a story unless I have a full grasp as to how the characters behave and talk. This being my first Sherlock fanfic, I would like to know if you all think I captured them correctly. To my preliminary defense on Moriarty's part, I just would like to say that this is Sherlock's version of him, he is the personality of Moriarty in the Mind's eye of Sherlock, privy the the information Sherlock allows him to have. Thank you. Read, Review, and Enjoy.

Did you miss me?

Sherlock descended the spiral staircase of the worn house. He was making a visit, a visit that he didn't like making. He braced himself as he turned the knob and pushed open the door.

"Hello, Sherlock. Did you miss me?"

Sherlock made the door vanish behind him as he came face to face with the single oddest entity in his mind palace

"I'd offer you tea or a bikkie, but I seem to be a bit tied up at the moment." Moriarty smiled as he remained seated in an awkward, animalistic position on the floor.

Sherlock kept silent as he paced back and forth across the padded, circular room.

"Aww come on Sherly, your visits are few and far between, you only come down here when you need the help of my superior brain." He crocked his head up to look at Sherlock, his insane smile still glued to his face.

"How?" Sherlock stated deliberately, continuing to pace in front of the demented Irishman.

"Oooh, you must have missed me."

"How?" He kneeled in front of Moriarty

"How should I know?" He looked at his elbow, feigning interest in a speck there. "I'm not him, I'm just the copy you keep imprisoned here for when you get all atwitter for my company."

"Yes but I have you here, your methods, your way of thinking. There has got to be something here that can give me the answer."

"Well look all you like…" He stood and spread his arms wide, "and don't think I'm not flattered." Sherlock met the happy glare of the disheveled criminal and his restraints were refastened.

"Party pooper." He sat back down against the wall and adjusted his neck against the metal cuff.

"A Blank, it was a blank. And a capsule in the back of your head, set to go off at the proper moment. There would have been the risk of an injury, too much risk."

"But calculate it Sherlock, would I have taken the risk?"

"Possible, but the path is improbable."

"As you like."

"A fake gun all together. Looked real, sounded real, and then the capsule."

"Could be managed, to be sure, but there was also a body…wasn't there?"

"I was able to get around that."

"Yes, you were. How did you do that anyway? I'd love to know."

"No, that's not you, you wouldn't ask."

"You're probably right, I'm sure it's that vanity of yours peaking through. Of course I know how you did it."

"You wouldn't and now you're just trying to distract me."

"I can't say that you don't have a reason for keeping me locked up."

"A double!" Sherlock whipped around to face the sitting man.

"Oooh, that's a fun one! Perhaps I have a twin!" He leaned forward and smiled like a child.

"Come now Sherlock, you know better than that."

"Stay out of this Mycroft, I'm thinking." Sherlock turned to look at the intercom speaker near the ceiling of the cell. It disappeared and Sherlock began to pace once more.

"Wait... perhaps you didn't do it."

"What?" Moriarty looked up, his face serious for the first time

"Sometimes the simplest answer is the correct one."

Moriarty kept his stare.

"You didn't fake your death, you died. And you do have a double, so to speak, someone who is under explicit instructions to continue on your work."

"Ahh, but to what purpose?" Moriarty shifted himself into a cross-legged position and leaned in. "I may have a lieutenant that is continuing on but why continue as me. What would I care if I'm dead?"

"You're insane, you don't need to have a purpose."

"Not insane, more liberated, I would say…but none the less…" He trailed off as Sherlock sat, mirroring his position in front of him. "My vanity is just as bloated as yours. What would be the fun in having my legacy carried on if I'm not there to enjoy it?"

"Perhaps just the thought of it kept you warm in that split second it took you to die between the bullet and your brain."

"Perhaps I just have a crush on you and this is my way of showing it." He smiled and fluttered his eyelashes.

"You could have had some sort of plate inserted into the roof of your mouth that would have stopped the blank." He narrowed his eyes.

"Ugg, back to that are we? I've forgotten how boring you could be." Moriarty gave an exasperated sigh as he rolled his eyes and fell back against the wall.

Sherlock stood up again and walked over to the wall, his collage of lists, clues, and pictures from his den covering it.

"There has to be something I missed. If you didn't die, then there must be an alternative. You did something convincing on the roof, so it is highly improbable that you did it all by yourself." He glanced at all the information one by one. "But at the same time, the assassins were called off and sent away, I made certain."

"I believe the instructions were for you to jump off of the building. You did that, so they left. How _did_ you manage that again?"

"Shut up. You had to of had an accomplice that you could trust completely, someone you knew you could depend on while you were at your most vulnerable…"

"We all have our pets. You have the short Watson fellow, Mycroft as you…" Sherlock was doing his best not to be distracted by the high, singsong voice jeering him from behind.

"What else? What else? THINK!" Sherlock shouted and the mass of papers in front of him evaporated

"You're looking at it the wrong way." Moriarty said tauntingly.

"What?" Sherlock spun around, agitated.

"You're asking the wrong question." Moriarty lazily lifted his head and shoulders from off of the soft wall.

"Explain."

"You may be dull, but you are at least somewhat more evolved than the rest of the rabble. You figure it out."

"Back to front, Sherlock. Like writing any good mystery, one must start with the end and work their way to the front." The speaker rang again.

"Oi, don't help him or he'll never learn!" Moriarty looked up towards the ceiling as Sherlock began to pace again.

"Back to front. Back to front. Back to front. You 'reappeared' the minute I was exiled."

"Almost the exact minute." He grinned.

"Which means you must have been watching me."

"Or someone has."

"But who?"

"Ah, now that is an interesting question. Congratulations!" Moriarty stood and clapped. Sherlock was too distracted to bother restraining him again.

"Why?" Sherlock was now face to face with the consulting criminal, they were on the roof top again.

"Another interesting question. Could it be that I'm _rubbing off_ on you?" He cocked an eyebrow.

"Why?!" He narrowed his eyes

"Do you think I know the answer?" They were in the cell again. "The painful truth is that you are just going to have to find out for yourself." The straitjacket was tied once again and Moriarty was clipped to the wall.

"Though, knowing me, you probably won't have to do much looking. I have a flare for the dramatics as well, you know."

"If indeed it is you."

"But you want it to be me don't you?" his tone suddenly going dark. "You _need_ it to be me. To have someone you can 'match wits' to, anything to keep you from being bored. My, my but I'm getting myself all excited. I do hope it is me."

The door reappeared across the room and Sherlock turned to leave.

"If it is me, do send him my love and give him a big ole smack on the lips so he can know just how much you missed him. And Sherlock?"

Sherlock turned to face him, hand on the door, preparing to close and lock it. "Just a little something to add on to your thoughts tonight as you fantasize about me in bed: a theory to your 'Why?'. Your friends, as you call them, on your side keep you there, but what were to happen if they were eliminated?" He gave a devilish grin as Sherlock slammed the door.

"Do you ever shut up?" Sherlock called over his shoulder as he climbed the staircase.

"You are a powerful ally to have, Sherlock Holmes. All someone needs is for you to be on their side!" The words echoed through the house as Sherlock reached the top of the staircase. Soft as his voice was, it shook the foundations of the palace itself.

Sherlock opened his eyes. He was back in his living room, in his chair, in the same position he had started in. He opened his laptop, clicked on a browser, and sure enough, the garbled video loop was there. The game wasn't on, not yet. This was just a call to all of the players.


End file.
